though impossible, i am sure
the ancients would regard you
as the stardust skinned messenger,
charging, winged, to the heavens

without horizons, twisting and buckling,
destination determined upon arrival,
oceans of gleaming light carry you.
how magnificent, you think. how magnificent.

this isolation gives you a higher faith
in the ones who graciously hurled you,
the ones who live above, their own heaven
impossibly swirling. oh, monstrous sphere!

glorious as it is, how it could possibly contain
beings kind enough to lay you along the stars,
you'll never know.